


The Last Fan-Fiction

by Metalnoir668



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metalnoir668/pseuds/Metalnoir668
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an analysis of some specific ships including speculation as to the reasons behind them, although it is not a work which embraces any particular ships. This could be called a work of Anti-fan-fiction.</p>
<p>If you are sensitive to any of the ships mentioned, I would advise against reading this. It is an analytical piece, some might say cruelly objective.</p>
<p>To repeat, readers who hold their ships dear may find this work ideologically offensive.</p>
<p>Warnings: There is foul language, brutally honest character assessment, sexually-explicit material (which does not occur until Chapter 4), and material which sensitive readers may find insulting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paved with Dumb Intentions

Sebastian slammed the car door shut once he had seated himself in the back seat of the black limousine. Once he fastened his safety-belt, the driver started rolling away from the expansive curbside gates of Dalton Academy. He wasn’t the only passenger in the back of the limo, and, although he was trying to appear nonchalant and indifferent, intentionally avoiding immediate eye-contact, it was plainly evident to the other occupant that Sebastian was slightly nervous. As the silent seconds turned to minutes which felt like hours and the limousine had traveled only walking distance from the school, Sebastian’s internal apprehension became visible anxiety.

“You know, we’re still within walking distance from your school,” Dave spoke, breaking the silence with a stony expression, eyes unfocused but sighted immediately ahead into nothing. “You could get out and walk back to the Academy before we get too far away. It might be a wise thing to do. Otherwise you’re gonna shake yourself out of your well-rehearsed composure.”

Sebastian turned his head slowly toward the other boy, a meek smile on his face as if he’d been caught doing something inappropriate. “Is it that obvious that I’m  _that_  nervous?” The s-sounds were slightly slurred, the hint of a stutter.

Dave turned his head likewise toward the other boy, not pulling himself from his reclined position that screamed of bored resignation, his expression one of annoyed indifference, eyelids heavy but eyes conversationally aggressive. “Yeah, it’s  _that_  obvious. And you’re relieved that I talked first because you had no idea how to start this.”

“I wanted to go back, but I can’t,” Sebastian admitted, referring to Dave’s initial suggestion.

“Yeah, I know,” Dave spoke, sounding slightly more approachable. “I didn’t want to be here either, but we’re stuck. No choice in the matter.”

Sebastian smiled more accommodating, reaching his hand across the seat. “We’ve never been properly introduced. I’m Sebastian Smy…”

“I  _know_  who the fuck you are,” Dave cut Sebastian’s introduction short, glancing at his hand with an expression of distaste, not reaching his own to shake upon the greeting. “Just like  _you_  already know who  _I_  am. No introductions necessary.”

Sebastian withdrew his hand, embarrassment visible on his face. Another expanse of dead-air followed before Sebastian spoke again. “So, where are we going exactly?”

Dave snorted a laugh. “No idea. We didn’t make the rules here, we’re just stuck on this roadtrip together. A whole week shot in the ass, and nothing either one of us can do about it because neither one of us wants to be here but we can’t get out of it either.”

_“Fuh…”_  Sebastian exhaled the expletive incompletely, his manners not allowing the whole word from his lips. His self-censoring nature was not unnoticed by Dave who shook his head and rolled his eyes in response, turning to the window at his side.

“Why are we here anyway?” Sebastian asked as a sincere question, a slight whine in his voice. “I mean, if neither one of us wants to  _be_  here, what’s the deal?”

“It’s Smythofsky week or some such shit.”

“What is  _Smythofsky_  week?”

Dave smirked a sarcastic grin and shook his head as he replied. “You see, there’s this bunch of straight girls who see two unattached gay guys like you and me, and they assume that we should be together just because we’re gay and unattached, regardless of the fact that there’s no  _basis_  for us to be together. So they put us together for a week thinking that we’re gonna fall in love or at least get it on or something.”

Sebastian’s face twisted slightly, baffled. “What  _straight_  girls?”

“Ah, the straight girls,” Dave’s voice raised to a near-bark. “They’re  _everywhere_. They  _watch_  us. They think, like, how  _neat_  it would be if we got together. They have nothing better to do so they put guys like you and me into these ridiculous, unlikely scenarios. They get off on thinkin’ about it, I guess.”

Sebastian smirked, a smug expression. “Chicks dig thinking about me getting nasty with you?”

Dave glared at the suggestion. “Like I said, they must have nothing better to do,” the dismissive words delivered through gritted teeth.

“Geeze, calm down, big guy,” Sebastian placated. “C’mon, you could do a lot worse than me, right?”

Another eye-roll. “Means nothing if your personality is repellent.”

“Aw,  _c’mon_ ,” Sebastian protested. “That’s not fair. You hit on me at Scandals that one time.”

“Yeah, you’re an okay-looking guy, and I was freaking desperate that night. After you shot me down, I realized how much your face resembles a twelve-year-old boy’s hairless scrotum. A scrotum with a shit-eating grin.”

Sebastian’s jaw hung open as he audibly exhaled, stung and incredulous that someone might find fault with his flawless appearance. “Well, uh, you’re just some crude jock.” The retaliatory delivery fell short of effective, and Dave chuckled to himself, shaking his head once again.

“Listen, guy, I already know what you think of me,” Dave smirked, eyes unfocused but facing ahead. “No point in making something out of nothing and no point in making this any more painful than it has to be. We’re stuck here having to endure each other for this whole week thanks to the fangirls who think they know what we want.”

“But can’t we give it a shot or something?”

“Listen, dude,” Dave’s voice became confrontational. “Can you honestly say that if you were in a room with twenty other guys that you’d look at me twice? Can you say you’d look at me twice if you were in a room with  _five_  other guys?  _Honestly_?”

Sebastian faced away from Dave, not speaking. Dave faced forward once again, accepting Sebastian’s unspoken answer.

“Well, we’re not the  _only_  two unattached gay guys,” Sebastian offered after a span of silence. “There’s that Chandler guy.”

“Aw,  _fuck that_ ,” Dave’s face grimaced in disgust as he spat his words with distinct venom. “Chandler doesn’t exist. He was the wrong-headed idea of some dumb-ass writers who decided to further insult their audience with another fucking gay stereotype. Fuck,  _you_  barely exist by those standards.”

Sebastian shook his head in surprise, appearing to become almost transparent for a moment at the delivery of Dave’s statement. “You don’t need to get  _mean_  about it. We should  _try_  to make the best of this if we’re stuck together for a week.”

“Listen,” Dave addressed Sebastian’s eyes with his as he spoke with a hard, pointed tone. “No point in lying for the sake of politeness here: you and I find each other fucking repulsive. Got it?”

“Uh, I,” Sebastian’s voice was quaking. “I hurt you when I insulted you at Scandals that one time. Sorry about that.”

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t like me then, you don’t like me now. You were just being honest. No harm done, just no point in pretending anything else.”

“You liked  _me_ , though.”

“Not really,” Dave answered calmly, “I was just desperate and you were there.”

“What about all the straight girls who are watching, the ones that expect us to get freaky with each other?”

“Fuck that. We have no choice but to be here and endure each other. What we do while we’re here is up to us.”

“Well, we could at least  _try_  and get along then.”

“Not happening.”

Sebastian whimpered a playful flirtatious sigh as he extended his hand across the seat, reaching to touch Dave’s. Dave pulled his hand away, planted himself more firmly into his side of the backseat, and jerked his gaze out the window, away from Sebastian.

The silence was thick again. The quiet humming of the luxury car became almost deafening until Sebastian emitted a defeated chuckle.

“Why a limo?”

_“What?”_

“Why are we in a limo?” Sebastian’s question posed jokingly.

“I guess they thought you wouldn’t ride in anything less, prep-school boy,” Dave answered.

Sebastian chuckled again, louder this time. “What about you?”

“What  _about_  me?”

“What would you be riding in if it was your choice?”

“If it was my choice, I wouldn’t  _be_  here.”

Sebastian exhaled again, sounding quiet defeat. “You know, I’m alright being stuck on this week-long thing with you.”

“That’s just because there’s no one around to swoon over you and make you feel like you’re hot.”

Sebastian’s face took on an air of defiance. “Who’d  _you_  rather be with?”

“If given the choice between you and something else, I’d opt for being by myself.”

“Can’t you at least tell me I look good to you or something?”

Face otherwise expressionless, Dave’s eyes shot sideways and moved up and down Sebastian’s seated form before sighting themselves forward into empty space again. “No. I  _could_  say that, but I’d be lying.”


	2. Wear Your Fake Fur on the Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an analysis of some specific ships including speculation as to the reasons behind them, although it is not a work which embraces any particular ships. This could be called a work of Anti-fan-fiction.
> 
> If you are sensitive to any of the ships mentioned, I would advise against reading this. It is an analytical piece, some might say cruelly objective.
> 
> To repeat, readers who hold their ships dear may find this work ideologically offensive.
> 
> Warnings: There is foul language, brutally honest character assessment, sexually-explicit material (which does not occur until Chapter 4), and material which sensitive readers may find insulting.

Dave seated himself in the chair at the tiny table opposite Sebastian, placing the paper cup of coffee onto the table’s surface in one motion as he reclined into the chair.

“What are we doing  _here_?” Sebastian asked, sounding almost annoyed.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules, remember?” Dave answered, stern-faced, but voicing in an otherwise polite tone. “The Smythofsky-week powers-that-be dictated that the limo stop here and wait while we sit down and have coffee. Besides, I thought you loved this place.”

_“What?”_  Sebastian nearly spat. “The Lima Bean?  _Please_.”

“You just about  _live_  here. Either you love this place or you’re a masochist.”

“Hmph.”

“If you don’t like it, why don’t you just leave?” Dave teased with a slightly sadistic grin. “Oh, that’s  _right_. You  _can’t_. The straight girls put us here.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, searching for another topic of conversation. “Creepy-looking day outside.”

Dave stared through the plate-glass observing the odd weather conditions. “I’ll agree with you there. Three in the afternoon should be broad daylight, but it looks almost like night. So dark. Windy and damp out. Weird for this time of year. Kinda drizzly too.”

“Yeah, it’s like being stuck in a horror movie or something,” Sebastian commented, the taint of disgust in his tone.

“Whatever.”

“What? Don’t like horror movies?”

“They’re okay,” Dave answered. “Most horror movies suck, though. I enjoy a  _good_ horror movie from time-to-time.”

Sebastian’s face fell to a disappointed expression. “Damn. I thought that might be something we have in common.”

“What’s that?”

“I can’t  _stand_  horror movies.” Sebastian’s face wrinkled, accentuating the displeasure in his statement. “Thought maybe we’d find common ground on our dislike of the genre.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “You wanted to use mutual  _disinterest_  in something to start a _conversation_?”

“Well, it’s better than  _not_  talking, I guess.”

“Is it?”

Sebastian frowned. “Better than being bored.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be bored than talk about how  _not_ -into something I am.”

“Well, what are we  _supposed_  to talk about?” Sebastian’s voice became almost impatient, immature.

“It’s not required that we talk at all,” Dave scowled at the boy across the table. “We’re here because we’re  _supposed_  to be here, apparently.”

“The limo driver’s  _weird_ ,” Sebastian remarked with a sideways-glance and spoiled-brat pout.

“He seems okay,” Dave countered. “He’s quiet. Laid-back.”

“Weird-looking tall guy all dressed in black with a pony-tail and wire-rimmed glasses.”

Dave snickered. “At least he doesn’t try to start conversations when there’s nothing to talk about.”

Sebastian scowled, message taken.

“Did you notice the guy who gave us our coffee order?” David reminded, still smirking.

Sebastian gazed upward, a thoughtful expression followed by realization, “A tall guy with a ponytail and wire-rimmed…  _Hey_ , what the  _fuh_ …”

Dave laughed aloud as Sebastian swung his head around, looking for the man at the counter who was nowhere to be seen at this point. “Calm down. We can’t control it. The whole week is gonna be like this. The straight girls planned this week-long  _thing_ , we’re stuck with each other, and it’s up to whomever is writing this to determine stuff like that. If the person working the keys wants the limo-driver and the barista to be the same person, they can do that, and there’s not a damned thing you or I can do about it.”

“I don’t like this, man,” Sebastian whined. “I’m not used to not getting my way, and this is just fucked-up.” 

“If I hafta be here, I can’t say I have any complaints with the writer…  _yet_. I’m just hoping that he doesn’t do something completely unrealistic and  _revolting_  like make us start having  _feelings_  for each other or something.”

“What would be so bad about  _that_?” Sebastian posed, appearing offended by Dave’s remark.

“You mean,  _besides_  the fact that it would never happen?”

“And why  _wouldn’t_  it happen?” Still appearing offended.

“It wouldn’t happen because of prom.”

Sebastian’s face flickered an expression of fear for a moment, and his appearance, his very substance, began to become vague, transparent, as it had earlier in the limousine.

Dave smirked, biting his lower lip, a knowing grin. He heard a high-pitched wailing sound. It was faint but growing. The sound faded as the smirk left Dave’s face and Sebastian seemed to regain substance, though visibly shaken.

“Actually,” Dave began, “I think something unexplainable is supposed to happen right now.”

Sebastian’s face appeared relieved, Dave’s earlier suggested topic of conversation abandoned.  _“Unexplainable?”_

“Yeah. According to the rules, we’re supposed to get involved in something supernatural today.”

“What  _‘rules’_?” Sebastian inquired, nearly mocking. “What are you talking about?”

“The  _Smythofsky week_  rules,” Dave replied. “Don’t you follow your tag on tumblr?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Forget it then,” Dave’s pitch dropped. “You’re  _uninformed_. This might be easier if you  _weren’t_.”

“Okay, then,” Sebastian began, “the horror movie talk earlier wasn’t  _entirely_  off-the-mark?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So, what, this is supposed to be about werewolves and vampires and zombies and stuff?”

“Um,  _yeah_ ,” Dave sat up suddenly, eyes wide, bright, mocking interest in the conversation.

“Cool,” Sebastian smiled, misreading Dave’s actions as sincere ones. Dave rolled his eyes.

“So, this  _could_  be fun,” Sebastian said, smiling and rubbing his hands together in eager anticipation.

“This could be  _dumb_ ,” Dave countered quietly but decisively, expression blank and cold.

“Aw,  _c’mon_ ,” Sebastian whined, good-natured this time.

“Naw,” Dave shook his head and turned his gaze toward the gloomy turbulent afternoon beyond the plate-glass of the storefront. “I don’t believe in  _any_  of that nonsense.”

“But it’s fun to  _think_  about, right?” Sebastian offered. “Werewolves are  _cool_.”

“I won’t apologize, but supernatural ideas  _can_  be useful ones in dealing with everyday life,” Dave began. “If I can find some real-time application, if they can somehow expand my understanding of my existential flavor-of-the-moment quandary, I’m open to that. Werewolves are old-world  _symbols_ , cautionary tales told to little girls walking through the forest to beware men with hair on the inside. I’m not interested in little girls, and all my hair is on the outside.” Dave’s expression hardened slightly, an air of accusation. “Those of us who wax their bodies smooth might need some internal hair, I suppose. I have no use for it, though.”

“Party-pooper,” Sebastian scowled, reading Dave’s unsubtle insult. “What about the idea of social vampires?”

“Been there, done that, not going back. It sucked. Pun intended.”

“Spill,” Sebastian requested, a playful smile overtaking his face.

“No,” Dave replied, decisive again, no smile, mechanical.

“What about zombies, then?” Sebastian posed the question as if it were a last-ditch effort to revive the dying conversation.

“Oh, now,  _zombies_  can be interesting symbols, especially right now, at this moment,” Dave opined.

Sebastian’s face slowly drew to a smug grin, feeling a small victory. “Go on, Dave.”

“Well, they’re the reason why we’re here. The zombies, that is.”

“The reason why we’re at the  _Lima Bean_  on a  _stormy afternoon_?” Sebastian’s face wrinkled with skepticism.

“No,” Dave pronounced annoyed as if tiring of Sebastian’s lack of adequate bandwidth. “The  _zombies_  are the reason why  _Smythofsky week_  is happening. We’re here at the Lima Bean because some whacked-out writer put us here.”

Sebastian’s silent confusion compounded visibly as he shook his head.

Dave exhaled and closed his eyes momentarily, fatigued of his coffee-companion’s lack of insight and depth. “Okay,  _zombies_. Metaphor for  _mob mentality_. They focus on  _one thing_ , and they have a  _collective_  mind but can’t think individually.” Sebastian’s face expressed greater interest as Dave continued to speak. “It’s the _straight girls_. They see two attractive gay guys and immediately think they should be together. That’s me and you. There’s no  _reason_  for us to be together, none at all. Like I said, we find each other repulsive, but that zombie mentality can’t be stopped with logic or reason. So, they impose this  _Smythofsky_  week upon the two of us. I’d rather be alone. You’d settle for being with me, but only if I was the last guy on earth, other than the limo-driver that is. Being with me is  _okay_ , but to make it actually  _good_  for you, you’d need me to tell you how beautiful you are because you’re vain like that. You need to feel desirable. Well, I’m not gonna tell you you’re beautiful because I don’t find you beautiful. You’d settle for a lie, but I wouldn’t. You’d rather be with the last guy on earth as long as he made you feel wanted. I’d rather be by myself than with someone I don’t want. The zombie-mentality of the straight girls has fucked us over.”

Sebastian’s face appeared outraged as he registered Dave’s blunt assessment. “How do we get out of this, then. If you’re not going to tell me you want me, I want out.”

Dave smirked. “We’re stuck here. The zombie-mentality of the living-dead-girls is stronger than either of our characters thanks to inadequate on-screen development. Hopefully, though, when this week’s over, we can go our separate ways and never need to think about each other again.”

“You’d never think about me?” Sebastian spoke, sounding truly wounded.

“No.”

“Not even a fantasy? You wouldn’t think about how my perfect lips would look and feel wrapped around your penis?”

_“No,”_  louder and dismissive with a hint of anger this time.

“I’ve thought about your penis. What it probably looks like, how it would taste and feel in my mouth. How that part of your body might smell. How I’d love to have you force it on me, to choke me with it. I’ve also imagined, as you said earlier, something about the hair on the inside that the outside observer can’t see.”

Dave’s face calmed, his momentary anger defused. “Shut up. You’re coming off as pathetic, and I’m not gonna  _fuck_  you, not even out of  _pity_.”

Sebastian’s anger rose. “You should be so  _lucky_  to get to touch me at all.”

With that, Dave reached across the table and brutally scooped Sebastian by the back of his neck, pulling him forward over the table. Sebastian pressed his palms against Dave’s shoulders and grimaced, eyes closed, tears welling in his eyes. Dave’s expression remained stony as he held Sebastian a fraction of an inch from his face. They could feel each other’s hot breath against their flesh.

_“Ung,”_  Sebastian squealed. “Let go. You’re  _hurting_  me.”

“This is what you  _wanted_ , though,” Dave whispered roughly, the moist heat of his words causing Sebastian’s expression to take on a face of fear. “Your dick hard?”

“Yes,” Sebastian whimpered as he began to tremble in Dave’s grip.

“Mine’s not,” Dave deadpanned as he released Sebastian with a shove. “The point is, I can touch you any time I want to, and  _luck_  doesn’t figure into that equation  _at all_.”

Sebastian scowled and settled into his seat, straightening his collar and craning his head around instinctively, prepared to address onlookers and affect damage-control although the coffee-shop was deserted for all but the two of them.

“These zombie-straight-girls, they can’t be real, though,” Sebastian spoke after a moment, feigning a return of his confidence.

“Oh, they’re  _real_ ,” Dave answered, nodding. “They’re realer than you and me. We’re just characters dreamed up by a staff of writers. The zombie girls  _control_  the writers. They didn’t at first, but ideas can be dangerous things when spread out over a horde of zombies, and if there’s one thing that these zombie-girls are good at, it’s fighting for a dumb idea once they get it into their collective head, once somebody, usually a  _queen-zombie_  has sold the idea to them.”

“Okay, then,” Sebastian’s skepticism became emboldened, “if by your own rationale werewolves and vampires don’t exist outside social metaphor, prove to me the existence of these zombie-girls.”

“Prom,” was Dave’s direct, single-word answer to Sebastian’s challenge.

“Wha… you quit school your senior year,” Sebastian stuttered, confidence gone, anxiety overtaking his face. “You didn’t go to your senior prom.”

“That’s right,” Dave verified. “But I did go to my junior prom the year before that. That  _happened_. That happened before  _you_  existed. If I remember it, if I  _believe_  that it happened, then the entire  _concept_  of the Warblers were just some writer’s idea of supplying this universe with a mentor-figure, a gay-knowledge  _mcguffin_ , then the Warblers’ purpose would have ceased to exist beyond that kid coming back to McKinley. If we rewind far enough, even the  _Warblers_  don’t exist.

The high-pitched sound they heard earlier rose again around them. It sounded like the wailing of tortured souls, each voice off-key from the others, a collective dissonant, crying moan. Its loudness was increasing as the thoughts Dave expressed became manifest. Sebastian’s head jerked up and around, twitchy, birdlike, as he sensed the growing, wailing noise, searching vainly for its source; his expression shifted from anxiety to horror as his colors desaturated: the navy and red of his jacket fading to a gray-blue and muted mauve, his hair color becoming ashen, his skin nearly white. “What’s that  _sound_  and what’s  _happening_ to me?” Sebastian demanded though the level of his voice was surprisingly soft given the frantic, shouted quality of his speech. 

“I’m debunking your very existence,” Dave spoke confidently as Sebastian’s facial expression became increasingly desperate. “The sound you’re hearing is the wailing and sobbing of the zombie-girls, the straight-girls-with-the-mob-mentality that run this particular sideshow. You see, they think you’re cute, and they think you and me should be together because they fantasize about us fucking around with each other. But what I’ve just said uses logic and rational thinking to prove that you never should have existed, so you’re starting to dissolve, and the zombie-girls are loudly protesting your disappearance-via-logic.”

Sebastian’s face became pitiable. His words were no longer audible, and he was becoming translucent. “Please don’t let me disappear,” he seemed to plead though his words were silently mouthed. 

Dave turned his attention to the darkness outside. A faint orange glow sparked at the horizon. In a few seconds, the landscape outside became dimly illuminated with a warm, hellish haze as the wailing increased to an almost deafening level, some of the voices reaching almost unbearable heights of pitch. Dave returned his gaze to Sebastian who was now entirely invisible save for the fading image of his gelled hairdo: all that remained was a headless, bodiless scalp of sculpted, trendy coiffeur. Shaking his head upon observing the image for a few seconds, Dave muttered, “Okay, enough of this supernatural trip.”

Sebastian began to become visible again as the wailing voices lowered in pitch and volume. Once more tangibly apparent, Sebastian seemed to be gulping air as if previously suffocating, eyeing Dave with a defiant rage. “That was  _really uncool_. What if I decided to do the same thing to you, to disbelieve  _you_  out of existence?”

Dave spoke without mirth, but authoritatively. “You can  _try_ , but I don’t think you _can_. You came  _after_  I did. Your existence is dependent upon mine having come first. If I hadn’t been such a fuckup bully, they’d have never needed to invent the Warblers or the pretty-boy, how-to-be-gay-walking-textbook mcguffin, and if the Warblers never existed,  _you_  couldn’t exist either. If you take me away, you disappear by proxy. Besides, you wouldn’t do that. You need other people around to give you some value. Without your minions, you don’t have a purpose, not even to yourself. You want me around to tell you how pretty you are, something I won’t do.”

Sebastian’s anger subsided to hurt. “But I made you sad once, and I’m sorry about that.”

“Ain’t no thing,” Dave responded. “If I were you, I’d hold onto that moment. It’s the one time you ever had any power over me. I was too naïve then, expecting politeness from people in general. I thought that, maybe, you and me, both being gay, might at least relate on some level; or at the  _very_  least, that it might dictate that your dismissal of me would involve a basic level of politeness. But I was wrong. You showed me that I shouldn’t expect acceptance or kindness or even basic courtesy from everyone. Or maybe  _anyone_. I moved on. I’m used to being alone. I’m really all I ever had. I mean, people would say that they were interested in what I was going through, but that was just the expected, polite thing to say. They didn’t mean any of it. In the end, once this week is over, I can go back to my solitary existence that no one knows, and you can go back to all of the girls who adore you.”

“But I don’t  _want_  girls,” Sebastian countered.

“Tough,” Dave barked. “It’s the girls that rule the show. They’re the ones who demanded the pretty-boy mcguffin; they’re the ones who demanded  _you_. I’ve been forgotten about, and they’re generally just fine with that.”

“Then why are we here?” Sebastian questioned. “Why did they  _invent_  Smythofsky week if they don’t want  _you_  around?”

“Because they think you’re cute and they feel bad about you not getting the mcguffin and feel the need to hook you up with whomever is available. And, yeah, some of them maybe feel sorry for me: I did get kinda cuddly there for a while, suicide attempt and all. Even the straight-girls figured out what an idiotic joke Chandler was.”

Sebastian cast his gaze downward from Dave’s face into the formica table top.

Dave huffed out a disgusted breath. “Finish your coffee and let’s get outta here. The limo is waiting. Two down, three to go.”


	3. Broken Tropes and Misanthropes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an analysis of some specific ships including speculation as to the reasons behind them, although it is not a work which embraces any particular ships. This could be called a work of Anti-fan-fiction.
> 
> If you are sensitive to any of the ships mentioned, I would advise against reading this. It is an analytical piece, some might say cruelly objective.
> 
> To repeat, readers who hold their ships dear may find this work ideologically offensive.
> 
> Warnings: There is foul language, brutally honest character assessment, sexually-explicit material (which does not occur until Chapter 4), and material which sensitive readers may find insulting.

“Can you turn that noise down?” Sebastian grimaced, annoyed, speaking over his shoulder.

Dave smirked, cocky, as he replied. “Sorry you don’t like my choice of music, but I guess you lacked the foresight to bring an ipod full of your girly-tunes.”

Dave and Sebastian were sitting in a darkened hotel room, each occupying his own twin bed. Dave was sitting upright, his laptop in front of him, occupying himself with the information on the screen. Sebastian was lying on his side, back toward Dave’s bed, trying to avoid the light coming from Dave’s laptop. As per Sebastian’s request, Dave reduced the output volume, reducing the sounds of Guns n Roses and Faith No More to a tinny, barely-audible buzz.

Sebastian was cranky and restless, but not so much as to allow Dave’s observation to go unaddressed. “ _Girly-tunes?_ ” he chided, once again over his shoulder, sour face.

“Yeah, you know,” Dave began, “all those Katy Perry, Destiny’s Child, and Pink songs that the Warblers specialize in.”

Sebastian grumbled a wordless response before rolling to face away again. When he spoke, it was while facing in the direction away from Dave. “What’s so interesting on your laptop?”

“Just checking my mail. Nothing earthshaking.”

“Does that mean you’ll be done soon?” Sebastian sounded exhausted by the situation.

“You want me to turn this off so you can go to  _sleep_? Come on. You’re not tired. We haven’t done anything all week but ride around in a limousine, stop periodically for food and coffee, and crash in hotels.”

“And talk.”

 _“Yeah,”_  Dave spoke as if the mere reminder was a distraction, “don’t remind me.”

“Aw, talking with me’s not so bad,” Sebastian protested, nearly whined.

“It’s not what I’d be doing by choice.”

“Yeah, well, we’re on the third day of me not doing anything  _I_  want to do either.”

Dave grinned, a hint of venom. “I guess this is the first time you’ve been in this kind of constant proximity with anyone for more than an hour and haven’t had sex with them. Am I right?”

Sebastian shrugged a shoulder horizontally. “Yeah, pretty-much.” He was quiet for a moment, not insulted by the slightly pointed jab. “What would  _you_  be doing if you weren’t here?”

“Probably much the same as I’m doing now, only by myself,” Dave responded. “I’ve been going to the gym late in the evening or early in the morning to avoid the crowds. Getting ready for college. Other than that, not hanging out with too many of my friends. Kinda cultivating this introspective vibe. Goofing off online. Reading.”

“Hey, I  _know_  this song,” Sebastian’s eyes perked at the tiny sound coming from Dave’s laptop speakers. “This, like, a  _Wham!_  song. Only a really horrid version.”

Dave chuckled. “It’s a metal version of ‘Careless Whisper.’

Sebastian chucked at the idea. “Who would ever even  _think_  to do that?”

Dave continued to chuckle. “I have no idea, but I get a kick out of it.”

“Me too, kinda,” Sebastian concurred, and both boys warmed in their mutual reaction.

“Hey, what you said before about me being with anyone for an hour and not having sex with them?” Sebastian began. “That was a pretty informed observation. How is it you know that much about me anyway?”

“Just a guess from what I’ve been able to pick up from the research I’ve done.”

“ _Research?_  About  _me?_ ”

“About us.”

“What are you even talking about?” Sebastian was audibly fatigued by the repeating cryptic nature of the conversations of the last three days.

“I’ve already told you about all these people who want us to be together,” Dave answered. “Well, they write about us. Literally volumes of stories about us being together.”

_“What?”_

“It’s  _true_ ,” Dave began clicking the keys on his laptop, eventually locating a particular website. “C’mere,” Dave gestured, jerking his head, signaling Sebastian to approach.

Sebastian rose from his bed and sat on the edge of Dave’s, squinting as Dave turned the laptop to share the screen with him. On the screen was a list of entries, titles followed by short descriptions. The titles filled the page.

“What  _are_  these?” Sebastian asked, puzzled.

“These are all stories which pair you and me as a couple.”

Sebastian was stunned silent. His mouth fell open at the sight.

After a minute, Sebastian began to speak again. “There must be, like, twenty or thirty titles there.”

“There’s more than that,” Dave spoke in an authoritative tone. “This is just the first page. There are probably hundreds of stories that pair you and me. This stuff goes on for pages. Each title clicks to a story. Some are pretty short, like a chapter or two. Some go on for, like, epic lengths. Some are ongoing, as if they’re never meant to come to an end.”

Sebastian shook his head. “How the fuck can people write so much about something that’s hypothetical at best and rationally doubtful?”

“They get these ideas in their heads.”

“Based on  _what_?”

“Like I said before: two unattached gay dudes should always be paired-up in these peoples’ minds. They can’t conceive of one gay dude not being another gay dude’s type. I think some of them like it because it lessens the likelihood of other pairings. I think that the people who like Kurt with the gay-mcguffin supported you and me getting together because they felt that you and I, as single gay males, posed some kinda threat to that couple, and if we were coupled, neither of us would be a threat to the Kurtguffin pairing. Whatever. I think some of them actually wanted me to be with Kurt but, when they figured that would never happen, they thought I should settle for being with you.”

 _“What?”_  Sebastian exclaimed, offended. “I am  _not_  someone that one  _settles_  for.”

Dave chuckled. “Get your panties unbunched. You’ve got nothing to worry about. Settling for you is pretty far from my mind.”

“This is actually pretty offensive to me,” Sebastian countered.

Dave laughed. “Dude, you have  _no idea_  how I feel about some of the stuff that’s been written about  _me_. There’re stories where I physically maim Kurt and the mcguffin heals him with his penis. I’ve been portrayed as an emotional wreck more times than I can count. Some of these people actually have me joining the  _glee club_.”

“That’s just  _nuts_ ,” Sebastian opined quietly.

“Yeah, I mean, aside from the stuff that’s been written about you and me being _totally_  unrealistic, it’s been pretty mild.”

“What are some of them about?”

“Well, for the most part they fit into a couple of general categories,” Dave explained. “There are the ones which are pretty simple about the two of us having hot, steamy sex, usually after you make me jealous by flirting with other guys and that brings out my protective, possessive nature and we have total balls-out animal sex.”

“That actually sounds kinda  _cool_ ,” Sebastian smiled as he offered an opinion.

Dave’s face raised a skeptical eyebrow. “It’d  _never_  happen, though.”

Sebastian’s smile subsided.

Dave continued. “Other common themes include you ‘teaching’ me about sex. Like, kinda giving me sex-lessons and stuff. For a while, you were teaching me how to hit on guys. There’s some pretty tame ones about us having picnics and a few about you coming to visit me when I was in the hospital.”

“Oh yeah,” Sebastian spoke doubtfully, “that would have  _never_  happened.”

Dave’s face flashed a wrinkled cross between a grimace and a smirk.

Sebastian recognized the unconscious coldness of his remark. “I mean,  _yeah_ , I’m trying to be a better person, but I’d stop short of Mother Teresa.”

“D’ I know,” Dave affirmed. “You can  _try_  all you  _want_  to be a better person, but you can’t lose the taint of your true character. Me, though, I  _am_  a good person by nature who messed-up struggling with my own identity. That made me a  _bad_ person. I was this naturally decent person who went out of his way to be bad. You are this internally wretched person who has to struggle to be good. Being bad made me feel terrible, but you  _revel_  in your rottenness.”

Sebastian nodded, agreeing. “I’m happiest when I’m fucking people over, that’s true.”

Dave turned his attention to the laptop and scrolled further down the screen.

“What’s made you happy lately, Dave?”

“None of your business.”

“Aw, c’mon, Dave,” Sebastian whined.

“It involved dressing up in a gorilla suit and giving somebody a bunch of gifts. Seeing how that made  _them_  happy made  _me_  happy.” Dave’s face became stern and his voice growled as he focused more intently on the laptop screen. “And that’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

The tense air diffused by a passage of silence before Dave spoke again. “Actually, that’s another pretty popular theme of the stories about us. We help each other to become better people.”

Dave and Sebastian both looked at each other and rolled their eyes. “How very Sesame Street and Barney and shit,” Sebastian opined.

“Fuckin’ aye-right,” Dave concurred, returning his eyes to the screen.

“So, do these stories put other characters together also?”

“Yeah. Some are pretty predictable. Me and Kurt. Kurt and the mcguffin. You and the mcguffin. Sometimes three or all four of us.”

“That sounds pretty  _hot_ ,” Sebastian grinned lecherously. Dave leered at him in return.

“Actually, you and Hummel are a pretty popular pair,” Dave teased.

“Aw,  _fuck that_ ,” Sebastian spat, “What are these people on  _drugs_?”

Dave laughed heartily at Sebastian’s blunt assessment.

“Sometimes they’ll pair us with characters that aren’t even gay,” Dave continued. “There was a kinda hot one I read where they had me foolin’ around with Finn Hudson.”

Sebastian let out a laugh. “You mean that dude that dances like a flopping fish?”

Dave grinned. “One’s ability to dance or not  _isn’t_  among my criteria for hotness.”

Sebastian frowned.

“This is a really good one, but it disturbed the fuck out of me to read,” Dave spoke as singled out a particular story.

“Why’d it freak you out?”

“Uh, it pretty-much starts with me getting gang-raped by the football team.”

 _“Hot!”_   Sebastian exclaimed.

 _“No, man,_ really _uncool,”_   Dave corrected with a haggard expression. “It’s a really good story otherwise, even though I’m kind-of a psycho in it. You should read it.”

Sebastian looked at the screen, puzzled. “There’s nothing there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The screen’s blank.”

Dave gazed at the monitor, filled with words and a drop-down menu showing thirty chapters. “Huh. I guess you can’t see it because it was written before you existed.” Dave backed to a menu page scanning other titles. “Here’s another decent one, except this writer made me some kinda hero. I think they were a little too nice to me in this one.” Dave paused. “You’re in it too. I tell you off at a PFLAG meeting in this one.”

Sebastian chuckled. “I probably deserved it.”

“Yeah, you probably did,” Dave spoke low. “Some people also make videos about these pairings. Sometimes they’re pretty cool, but nothing bothers me more than watching a video of me and Kurt set to that damned song from  _Beauty and the Beast_. I mean, you see my gruff mug on the screen and hear that girl’s voice singing about there being ‘something there.’ It’s incongruous as all fuck.”

Sebastian cackled. “That I gotta see.”

“I think that was from before you existed also.” Dave backed away from his laptop and reclined on the bed, head toward the pillows. Sebastian watched him recline and smiled spontaneously. “Well, twinkasaurus  _blechs_ , I think I am going to try to get some sleep,” Dave said as he twisted and reached for a pillow, punching it to a fuller form. Sebastian scowled slightly at Dave’s euphemism. “You can peruse those stories on my laptop if you like.”

Sebastian nodded and faced the screen.

“From your  _own bed_ , please,” Dave reminded loudly.

“Huh?”

“Take my laptop to your bed or sit at the desk or something,” Dave directed. “Just get off of  _my_  bed so I can sleep.”

“Oh,” Sebastian stood, grabbing the laptop as he watched Dave lift the blankets and pull them over himself. “Where’s the limo driver sleeping? Did he get a hotel room also?”

“I think he’s sleeping in the car.”

Sebastian shook his head.  _“Creepy.”_

“Meh, whatever works for him, I guess.”

Sebastian sat on the center of his bed and scrolled through list after list of fan fiction stories, seeing names he knew and some he didn’t. He wasn’t tired, but perhaps reading would change that.


	4. The Man Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an analysis of some specific ships including speculation as to the reasons behind them, although it is not a work which embraces any particular ships. This could be called a work of Anti-fan-fiction.
> 
> If you are sensitive to any of the ships mentioned, I would advise against reading this. It is an analytical piece, some might say cruelly objective.
> 
> To repeat, readers who hold their ships dear may find this work ideologically offensive.
> 
> Warnings: There is foul language, brutally honest character assessment, sexually-explicit material (which does not occur until Chapter 4), and material which sensitive readers may find insulting.

Dave had just finished working out at the gym. It was late, near closing-time, as it was his habit to frequent the place at these less-trafficked hours. He’d finished showering, and the hot water felt absolutely amazing to him, somehow more welcoming that usual. He’d toweled himself after shutting off the water but before leaving the stall. He wrapped the towel around his waist and secured it there, shoulders and back still dotted with warm water, hair dripping occasionally from his forehead. As he exited the stall, he shook his head, releasing a spray of water into the surrounding air. Steam still hung in the air from the shower, trailing into the locker area.

As he stood at his locker, Dave unwrapped the towel from his waist and dried himself more thoroughly after which he stepped into a pair of charcoal-gray boxer-briefs. He could hear the noise reverberating outside the locker room: the motion of stationary bikes and treadmills. The sounds from the weight room were nonexistent. It was thirty minutes before closing, and Dave had more than enough time to finish dressing before the manager would make the announcement that they’d be closing for the evening. 

Dave felt a trickle of water running down his chest, his thick pecs fuzzy with dark hair still held a spray of moisture. As he reached for his towel, he saw a tall, lean figure approach through the steam. He squinted. He recognized the figure, the young man dressed in a sweat-soaked T-shirt and running shorts.

“Hey, Karofsky,” the figure spoke, sounding friendly, almost inviting.

Dave shook his head and smiled with a surprised expression. “Hudson?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” the young man replied.

“I thought you joined the army.”

“I did. Didn’t work out. Back here now.”

“Wow,” Dave mumbled, feeling a slight pang of awkwardness as the young man stood next to him, faced a locker a few feet away from Dave’s, and lifted his sweaty T-shirt up and over his head, dropping it to the bench behind them. Dave’s eyes bugged slightly. “You look all tan and healthy. And good.”

“Thanks,” Finn spoke through a slight chuckle. “Yeah, basic training will do that. I’m definitely a little more cut than I was before I left.” Finn shot a sideways glance and smile at Dave. “So, how are things with you?”

“I’m okay,” Dave answered, a slight stutter. “I’ll be going off to Case Western in the spring once all this holiday stuff is over.”

“That’s cool,” Finn replied. “I’m in charge of the McKinley glee club now.”

“That’s wild,” Dave spoke, surprised but not unpleasantly. “What happened to Schuester?”

“He’s still around, but he’s out of town at the moment,” Finn answered. “I’m taking care of things for now.”

“Gotcha. That’s cool.” Dave faced downward and into his locker, retrieving his gym bag.

“Hey, I wanna say something,” Finn spoke causing Dave to turn his attention to face him.

“Yeah?”

Finn was taller than Dave, standing with his head thrown back and chin slightly upward, his eyes cast down and moving from Dave’s face to his chest and upward again to Dave’s eyes. “You know, I was engaged to Rachel, but that’s done, and I’ve dated girls, but the only one that’s doing much for me right now is kinda off-limits because she’s, like, sixteen and in the glee club and that probably wouldn’t go over so well.”

Dave’s face puzzled slightly. “Yeah?” he asked more quietly this time.

“I was thinking that right now might be a good time for me to  _expand my horizons_ and maybe explore some  _different avenues_ , I mean, I know, like,  _about_  you.”

Dave wrinkled a grin through his baffled expression. “Yeah,” Dave’s words came slow, “well, I’m  _out_ , and most everyone  _knows_ , but, like, I don’t advertise it or anything.”

Finn smiled more confidently. “You think you might wanna, like, fool around a little with me? Tell me what feels good?”

“Dude, you’re  _straight_ ,” Dave’s smile betrayed the ineffective dismissal of his words. “Besides, I’d think that if you were interested, you’d have already fooled around with Hummel or the mcguffin by now.”

 _“Bah,”_  Finn whispered the word out and held it. “Those guys were a little too, uh, _fussy_  for me or something. If I’m gonna fool around with a guy,  _you’re_  more my speed.”

“Shit, Hudson,” Dave almost choked out the words as his smile became more genuine.

Finn lifted his hand, fingers lightly resting on Dave’s chest, shaking loose drops of moisture as they collected to the indentation between his pecs and drained to the center of his hairy belly, pooling a dark, spreading spot of moisture at the waistband of his boxer-briefs. “This hair is amazing,” Finn hissed.

“Shit, Hudson, you made fun out of me for being hairy when we were young.”

“I was an idiot back then.” Finn slowly lowered his hand to Dave’s crotch, cupping the swelling mass within.

“ _Shit, Hudson_ , I’d thought about this but never thought it would happen. I always took you as straight as an arrow.”

“Learn something new every day, huh?”

Finn leaned toward Dave and bent slightly, touching first his lips to the hairy chest’s surface, then his tongue to Dave’s nipple.

Dave gasped and shuddered, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Shit, Hudson, you seem like you know what you’re doing.”

Finn let his tongue follow to the moisture at the waistband of Dave’s boxer-briefs. “Well,  _maybe_  I’ve thought about  _you too_.”

Dave laughed more audibly this time. “Dude, I’ve jerked off thinking about you.”

“Oh  _yeah_?” Finn crouched, his face at Dave’s waist-level, slowly running his fingers into the stretchy fabric of Dave’s underwear and coaxing the garment downward. The way Dave’s rapidly-stiffening penis slipped seamlessly into Finn’s mouth seemed almost professional. Dave slowly backed and lowered, sitting on the edge of the bench and reclining himself backward lengthwise to lie upon it horizontally. “What am I doing when you’re jerking off thinking about me?”

 _“Shit,”_  Dave breathed. “Just exactly what you’re doing now.”

“Fantasy-come-true, then,” Finn teased as he looked up at Dave, smirking a cocky grin before returning his mouth to Dave’s shaft.

Dave felt incredible. The sensation of Finn’s mouth working his engorged member was beyond his expectation. Dave looked downward to see his entire penis disappearing into Finn’s mouth. He was impressed. He knew he wasn’t small, but Finn was doing impressive work for a first-timer.

“You  _sure_  you’ve never done this before, Hudson?”

“Hmm-mmm,” Finn’s response was an understandably muffled hum.

 _“Fuuuuck,”_  Dave breathed the word, eyes closed, head thrown back. His hips instinctively bucked forward, forcing his cock deeper into Finn’s mouth, Finn audibly gagged, but, noise aside, the action was seamless, unaffected. Dave’s hands rested briefly on Finn’s bare shoulders as their movements became fluid and graceful: Dave’s hips thrusting a smooth rhythm in time with his hands as he guided Finn by his shoulders; Finn’s neck stretched and retracted, an expansion of the fluid, graceful action.

Dave’s hands moved to the center, grasping Finn’s head. At first it was part of the same smooth approach; in almost no time, the action turned rough. Dave aggressively gripped Finn’s head, using both of his hands to force Finn’s mouth onto his thrusting pelvis. Finn gagged but did not protest as his saliva soaked into Dave’s pubic bush and onto his contracting scrotum. Dave was giving Finn a serious skull-fucking, and Finn was proving himself adept and eager.

Dave lifted his head and squeezed his eyes closed tightly, his chin nearly resting on his chest, his jaw jutting forward, audibly heavy breaths. “Yeah.  _Fuck_  yeah. Take that cock.” He rammed Finn’s head mercilessly onto his rod, his hips thrusting roughly upward, repeating the action like a machine. His breathing was heavy, and he was hitting his stride though he was nowhere near cumming yet. “I’m just getting started with you. I hope you can keep this up for a while because I got a way go before I shoot.”

Dave was getting beyond the point of words. His actions, though enthusiastic, were almost completely involuntary now. He inhaled a deep breath and opened his eyes.

He found himself in the darkness of the hotel room on his bed, covers pulled back, Sebastian’s face buried in his crotch, his hands gripping Sebastian’s head.

 _“What the fuck?”_  Dave shouted. His stomach fell within him. The speed with which Dave’s penis became soft and useless within Sebastian’s mouth was almost alarming, surreal. He gripped Sebastian’s shoulders and pushed him off; Sebastian’s naked body sprang to a sitting position, his face marked with both surprise and hurt.

Dave shook his head and bolted upright onto his feet, off of the bed. He appeared singularly repulsed by the images and sensations to which he had awakened. He reached downward, pulling his boxer-briefs and running shorts upward in one motion. Both young men remained silent, staring at the other. Sebastian’s face had shifted to an expression of fear which eventually softened to a smile; Dave’s face remained hard and incredulous, even slightly terrorized.

“I don’t know what that was all about,” Dave finally said in a hushed-but-harsh tone.

“I was  _curious_. I wanted to see what you were like. I wanted to see what was in there.”

“Don’t talk. I feel like you violated my personal space.”

“What can I say? I’m a sexual being. It’s my  _nature_  to…”

“You  _did_  violate my personal space.”

“You were obviously enjoying it before you woke up.”

“I  _didn’t_  want that. I  _don’t_  want  _you_.”

“Were you dreaming about someone while I was…”

“Yeah, and that’s none of your fucking business. I’m gonna jump in the shower because I feel really fucking filthy right now. When I come out, I expect to be undisturbed for the remainder of the night. Maybe we can pretend like that didn’t happen.”

With that, Dave grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand, stomped to the bathroom, and slammed the door shut. Within seconds, Sebastian could hear water running, the shower being turned-on. Sebastian stood from Dave’s bed and returned to his own. Perhaps reading erotic fan-fiction in the earliest of morning hours was not the wisest thing to do with another occupant in the same room, he thought.

He sat before the screen of the laptop once again, noting the time: four sixteen AM. He found an index page and began scrolling through a seemingly endless list of titles. Nothing was catching his attention. The sounds from the bathroom were momentarily distracting as Sebastian could hear Dave stomping around in the shower, an unconscious (or perhaps overtly conscious) manifestation of his anger, and turning the water up to full-blast, likely an effort to drown the thoughts and memories of the last few minutes. Sebastian began surfing random pages, accessing places on the internet he’d not seen before, in an attempt to rid his own mind of the strange burden which the last several minutes had imposed upon it.

Part of him wished that Dave had not reacted as he did, but Sebastian should have known better. Part of him wished that he was in that bathroom shower with Dave, the feeling of Dave’s fuzzy torso tactile against his fastidiously waxed chest. Sebastian rolled these thoughts in his head as he scrolled mindlessly and jumped from internet page to internet page.

Then, through all of the random page-shifting and fast-surfing, the laptop screen went blank and gray for several seconds. Sebastian puzzled, cocked his head, and was preparing to smack the laptop like one might administer a healing-blow to an old television with a loose connection when the screen lit up again, filling with white light slowly from the bottom to the top. Formatting began to appear and the page filled with an open gmail account. It bore no visible name, generic in all respects. There were four messages in the inbox; each was a notification of shared documents. The most recent bore the current date, and he, the user, was authorized to view, but not edit, the documents. Sebastian clicked on the most recent entry and the page filled with text. The text continuously grew in length originating from an unknown source in the cloud; he was watching the creation of a work in progress. He could see words appear at the bottom of the page, but an arbitrary paragraph caught his attention, and he began reading.

_Dave shook his head and bolted upright onto his feet, off of the bed. He appeared singularly repulsed by the images and sensations to which he had awakened. He reached downward, pulling his boxer-briefs and running shorts upward in one motion. Both young men remained silent, staring at the other. Sebastian’s face had shifted to an expression of fear which eventually softened to a smile; Dave’s face remained hard and incredulous, even slightly terrorized._

Sebastian’s jaw dropped, and his skin paled in paranoid realization. He scanned to the bottom of the page where he could see words appearing before his eyes, one-by-one, letter-by-letter, letters becoming words, words becoming paragraphs of text. His eyes widened on the epiphany that he was watching the creation of this very story of which h e  a n d  D a v e  w e r e  c u r r e n t l y  p a r t  .

=============================================================

Dave awoke on the floor of the bathroom to the sound of a fist pounding on the bathroom door. Shaking the exhaustion of a terrible night’s sleep from his head, and his joints aching from the cold ceramic-tile surface with only four bathtowels, two of which were soaked, acting as a mattress, Dave rose unsteadily to his feet and opened the bathroom door. He was greeted by the limo driver, a singularly pointed expression, holding a shaken-looking Sebastian by the scruff of his neck.

Dave looked from one face to the other. “What’s going on?”

The limo driver spoke. “I was asleep in the back seat of the car, on my own  _fucking_ time and minding my own  _fucking_  business, and I was rudely awakened when I found  _this_  guy working at my belt trying to get into my pants.”

Dave turned to Sebastian’s. Dave’s face displayed disgust toward Sebastian; Sebastian’s displayed disgust for himself. Dave shook his head and lowered his gaze, raising his hand to partially cover his face.

“I know he’s not exactly your responsibility, but can you  _please_  try to see to it that this kinda thing maybe doesn’t happen again?” the driver asked Dave, almost accusingly. “We only have two more days of this; do you think he can hold out for that much longer? I know you can’t watch him every second, and, like I said, I know you’re not  _specifically_  tasked with keeping an eye on him, but this is pretty ridiculous and embarrassing.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Dave responded, voice scratchy and mind taxed.

“It’s okay,” the driver assured in a calmer tone than he’d previously used. “I’ll be in the limo when you guys are ready to go for breakfast.” With that, the driver released Sebastian and stepped outside the door to the hallway, leaving Dave and Sebastian alone again.

“What the fuck was that all about?” Dave spoke harshly at Sebastian while Sebastian walked slowly, unsteadily into the hotel room, making his way toward his bed.

“I’m freaked out, Dave,” Sebastian spoke, his voice every bit as unsteady as his gait. “I saw something on the computer when you went into the bathroom. I saw this story being written in the cloud, it was coming up in front of me. I could see the letters appearing one-by-one on the screen.”

Dave shot Sebastian a baffled expression. “That’s just nonsense. Not being able to have someone swoon over you for three days has caused you to go batshit crazy.”

 _“No,”_  Sebastian negated. “I’m fucking  _terrified_ , but I know what I  _saw_ , and it scared the  _fuck_  out of me. And you know  _what_? I think that limo driver is the one who’s doing it.  _He’s_  the one making this happen.”

Dave shook his head, exhausted of his travel-companion’s idiosyncrasies. “So your solution to something that’s an imagined problem is to go down and give the guy a blow job in his sleep? Is life _that_ much of a porn movie to you? You go to get your oil changed and blow the mechanic? You go down on the checkout girl at the grocery store?”

 _“No,”_  Sebastian countered. “I’m not exactly sure why I did that. I swear I was reading this as it was being written, and it freaked me out. Then something in my mind connected to that limo driver, so I left the room and went outside. I saw him sleeping in the back of the limo. I could somehow tell that he was dreaming this thing we’re living through, this story that we’re acting out right now was being created in his head at that moment. I think I was trying to make him want to fix it.”

“By sucking his dick?”

Sebastian shook his head and exhaled loudly but unsteadily. “There’s something _wrong_  with this story. Something’s gone  _horribly_  wrong for both of us in this writer’s mind. I thought that maybe if I interfered with the creative process, I might fix it.”

“And what’s  _wrong_  exactly?” Dave’s voice was calm but his patience was audibly waning.

“The writer is  _objective_. He doesn’t  _love_  us.”

“Whatever. I’m absolutely accustomed to being not loved, disliked, hated, and everything in between.”

 _“I’m not,”_  Sebastian protested, voice trembling, childlike. “I want people to  _adore_ me.”

“This must be hard for you,” Dave offered, “your services being rejected twice in one night.”

“That’s  _not fucking funny_. You don’t know what it’s like to be me.”

“And  _you_  don’t know what it’s like to be  _me_ ,” Dave barked.

Both were silent for a moment before Dave collected his thoughts and spoke again.

“So, you say you’ve  _read_  this story about us?”

“Well, everything that happened after you went to bed tonight up to the point where I left the room to go out to the limo driver.”

“Show it to me,” Dave sat beside Sebastian on the bed and placed the laptop in front of Sebastian. “Show me this story, the one we’re playing out right now. It should be several paragraphs longer at this point, what with all of this having happened since you saw it.”

“Okay,” Sebastian spoke. “It was a gmail account, and the docs were shared to that account.” Sebastian began clicking at the keys, bringing the gmail homepage to the screen. A log-in page appeared.

“When I saw this before, it was already logged into gmail,” Sebastian spoke, confused.

“What was the name on the account?”

“There wasn’t one.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Dave voiced, skeptically. “Try logging in with  _your_ gmail account.”

Sebastian clicked the keys, typing in his account name and password. His inbox appeared. No shared documents were on his account. “This  _isn’t_  it. Try logging in with your account.”

Sebastian logged out and passed the laptop to Dave who shot Sebastian a tired sideways glance. He logged int his gmail account. “No shared docs on mine.”

“It’s gone.”

“I think you dreamed it up.”

“I know what I saw, Dave.”

Dave’s eyes narrowed and he let out an exhausted breath. His eyes shifted toward Sebastian. “Prove it.”

“When you were asleep in bed earlier,” Sebastian began.

“Yeah?”

“You were dreaming about Finn Hudson sucking your dick.”


	5. Götterdämmerung, o Tannenbaum!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an analysis of some specific ships including speculation as to the reasons behind them, although it is not a work which embraces any particular ships. This could be called a work of Anti-fan-fiction.
> 
> If you are sensitive to any of the ships mentioned, I would advise against reading this. It is an analytical piece, some might say cruelly objective.
> 
> To repeat, readers who hold their ships dear may find this work ideologically offensive.
> 
> Warnings: There is foul language, brutally honest character assessment, sexually-explicit material (which does not occur until Chapter 4), and material which sensitive readers may find insulting.

**_  
_**Dave stood in a far corner of Breadstix, watching as people entered the festively-decorated restaurant. Sebastian mingled with the arrivals as Dave made an effort to be as inconspicuous as possible: though he’d embraced the fact that he often felt awkward in mixed company, he felt particularly ill-fit to this crowd.

Dave stood a short distance from the cash register, and he overheard the limo driver ordering dinner for himself from the carry-out menu. He listened as the driver, having been told that his order would be several minutes, said that he’d be stepping outside and would be back for his order shortly. Dave watched the driver exit the doors of the restaurant and stand several feet away from the door, lighting a cigarette, puffing, and blowing smoke into the chilly night air which was filled with a slushy sort of precipitation. Dave slowly followed outside into the parking lot and approached the older man.

“Not staying for the night’s festivities?” Dave asked quietly as the distance between the two of the closed.

The driver swiveled his head and addressed Dave. “No. Not in the job description. _You_  need to be here, but I don’t. I’ll be spending the evening elsewhere.”

Dave noticed that the driver’s hair was not tied back as it had been for the entire week: it lay in an unruly tangle, hanging over his shoulders and back; Dave also noted that the driver had added a black fedora and a long, black overcoat to his attire. “Cool hat.”

“Thanks,” the driver chuckled. “Thought it was appropriate due to this weather.”

“No ponytail tonight?”

“Nah,” the driver answered. “It looked like a scraggly mess so I thought I just let it hang out and cover the rest with the hat.” The driver cast his eyes over Dave’s form for a moment, nodding. “You look nice tonight.”

Dave smiled and looked downward toward the pavement. “Thank you.” He was wearing a casual black sport coat with a dark blue sweater beneath and black casual dress pants. “I thought I’d get a little dressed-up for the Christmas party.” Dave paused and his face sobered. “Even though I wish I could be just about anyplace else.”

The driver turned, facing Dave more directly as Dave continued.

“This is the last day of Smythofsky week. It’s just about over. Do you think I’d be able to, like,  _leave early_? I don’t do so well with this kinda crowd, and there’s just this one last night.”

The driver shook his head. “Dave, you need to be wherever Sebastian is until this thing is over, well, within a reasonable proximity, at least. That’s part of the rules.” The driver turned, looking in through the doors at the girl working the cash register who was carrying a medium-sized bag to the counter. “I think my dinner’s ready.”

Exhaling a final breath of smoke into the chilled breeze and depositing the remainder of the cigarette into a receptacle, the driver turned and stepped back through the doors and into the restaurant, and Dave followed.

“That’ll be six dollars and sixty-eight cents, sir,” the girl at the counter spoke to the driver as he handed her a ten-dollar bill and told her to keep the change.

“What’s for dinner?” Dave asked the driver as he turned to face away from the checkout counter.

“Pasta diablo,” the man answered with a crooked smile before closing the distance between himself and Dave and speaking more seriously, quietly. “I know this is going to be worse than the rest of the week for you because, instead of just one person that you don’t particularly want to be around, it’s going to be crowds of people you’re not comfortable with. Just tough it out.”

“When will it be over?” Dave asked, “When will I know that I’m free to go?”

The driver addressed Dave’s eyes directly as he backed toward the exit doors. “When it’s over, you’ll know that it’s over. Not before then. And you’ll see me again at that point.”

With that, the driver spun, stepped toward and through the exit doors, and pushed out into the night, his long black coat fluttering in the wind behind him.

“Dave? Dave Karofsky?”

Dave turned to the source of the voice which spoke his name to see Finn Hudson stepping toward him. His gait was markedly more clumsy than the seductive dream-image from two nights prior, a loss of the mind’s aesthetic idealism.

“Hey, Hudson,” Dave spoke, friendly but hesitant.

“So, what brings you to the New Directions private party at Breadstix?” Finn asked, receptive and friendly, if charismatically inept.

“Uh, yeah, I was hanging with Sebastian, and the mcguffin invited him and the Warblers, and I’m kinda here by default, I guess,” Dave answered, no less clumsy than Finn’s approach. “So, I hear that you’re the head of the glee club?”

“Yeah,” Finn smiled, both excited and proud. “How’d you know?”

_You told me_ , Dave opened his mouth to reply and stopped realizing that Finn hadn’t told him, not outside of a dream, at least. Dave’s mouth hung open, wordless for a moment, before he said, “Um, I guess someone told me.”

“Cool,” Finn nodded. “Word travels fast, I guess.”

“Hey,” Dave continued, “How’s Kurt doing?”

“Kurt’s in New York,” Finn replied quickly, nodding, almost nervously again. “He just got accepted to a performing arts school up there. He and Rachel are roommates.”

Dave smiled genuinely. “That’s great. That’s where he belongs, I guess. In his own element.” Dave nodded and addressed Finn’s face.

“You look good, Dave,” Finn complimented as he stood back slightly, taking in Dave’s form more fully.

“Thanks,” Dave smirked.

“Well, I hope you have a good time here,” Finn spoke. “We’ll be getting the music going in just a bit.”

“How long is this going to go on?”

“Um, well, the New Directions will be singing about a half-hour’s worth of Christmas songs,” Finn answered, eyes looking upward for a moment, a thoughtful expression as if tallying the night’s events. “Then I think the Warblers might sing a few songs with the mcguffin. Kind-of a free-form jam-thing. We all hafta be out of here by ten o’clock.”

Dave nodded, facing downward. “That’s cool. No offense, but this really isn’t my thing, and if it ends that early, I’m fine with that.” Dave’s eyes were still trained on the floor when he continued a moment later, “This really isn’t my crowd.”

“Oh, you’ll do just fine,” said a voice from Dave’s opposite side.

Dave looked up to see that Finn had walked away and was at the opposite side of the room. Turning to the source of the voice, he saw Sebastian standing next to him.

“Hey,” Dave spoke, sounding somewhat deflated.

“I was just out talking to all of the people here,” Sebastian smiled his characteristic wicked smile which Dave had not seen for the majority of their five days together. “I think it’s hysterical that the New Directions are throwing this Christmas party even though they blew their chances of getting to Nationals by totally getting destroyed by us at Sectionals. It’s like a glorious wake for the defeated New Directions.”

Dave nodded, appearing uncomfortable again.

“Good news,” Sebastian continued. “I got you into the Dalton Christmas Gala which we’ll be going to when this lame party is over. No one throws a Christmas bash like the Warblers.”

“Well, I guess I’ll get to compare the two parties later tonight, then,” Dave spoke, sounding almost doomed.

“Yeah, we always bring the house down,” Sebastian expanded. “You look nice tonight, Dave,” Sebastian remarked, shifting his tone to sound more sincere than cocky.

“Thanks,” Dave smiled slightly as he looked toward Sebastian and assessed his appearance. “And you look like you always do.”

Sebastian’s smile dropped. “Can’t you compliment me just  _once_?”

Dave’s brow creased. He tried to smile, but it didn’t happen. “I’m not gonna apologize for being honest. You’re wearing the same suit you  _always_  wear. Your hair is  _exactly_  the same as it always is. What do you want me to say?”

“You know, we’ve been together for four days, and you haven’t said one nice thing to me. Not even out of courtesy.” Sebastian’s veneer cracked to reveal a simmering anger beneath. “I’ve successfully fucked around with straight guys but failed in getting you interested in me at all. What the  _fuck_  is your problem?”

“Then have fun ‘converting’  _straight_  guys if that’s how you get your kicks. I told you before, I’m just  _not interested_.”

“You know, you disrespected me this entire week, both subtly and overtly,” Sebastian’s face succumbed to a quiet but unmistakable rage. “You haven’t even so much as called me by my name.”

“That’s because you’re a  _fucking joke_ ,” Dave’s voice was calm and analytical despite the pointed expletive. “You’re a cartoon-character stereotype. The writers even gave you a cartoon-character name. Sebastian Smythe. It sounds like an amalgam of Richie Rich, Snidely Whiplash, and Boris Badenov. They didn’t even grace you with a porn-star name like the new characters all have.”

Sebastian sneered defiantly. “I’ll see you later when this lame pre-party has ended and the  _real_  party begins.”

Dave’s expression remained unmoved.

Sebastian huffed and stomped away from Dave to a large group of Warblers who were gathered around a large table, eating various appetizers, and laughing with each other. The New Directions took the stage area and began singing a string of typical, overplayed holiday novelty songs. Dave remained in the shadows by himself, not feeling especially drawn to either group of people.

Though the new faces of the New Directions were not unappealing, the presence of the mcguffin rendered the entire program trite in its excess and theatrically distasteful for that reason. As the formal program ended, the mcguffin remained on the stage platform, and the Warblers took their places around him. They began an impromptu arrangement of “Carol of the Bells” which sounded impressive as their meticulously-trained voices played off of each other flawlessly, but the freeform acrobatics of their movements pulled the idea of the traditional piece of music into the realm of absolute parody. Dave did find a degree of humor in the mcguffin’s shameless ass-shaking during a jazzy arrangement of “O Come All Ye Faithful”, an action which drew swoons from Warblers and girls alike.

As the hour of ten o’clock drew near, the festivities began to disperse. The members of the New Directions went their separate ways, excepting the mcguffin. He was, as was Dave, going with the Warblers to the Christmas party at Dalton Academy.

As the Warblers moved mob-like toward the exit doors, Dave felt himself being moved, more forcibly-pushed than gently whisked, by the group. Dave was shoulder-to-shoulder with the mcguffin; Sebastian was behind them both, an aloof, malevolent smile on his face, arms ensnaring them as they squeezed through the double-doors into the parking lot. A blue-with-red-trim bus emblazoned with a stylized signet letter D was waiting.

“Let’s hear it for the Dalton party bus!” a nameless Warbler shouted; he was answered by cheers and approving yells from the remainder of the mob, excepting Dave.

Things were happening fast. Dave didn’t exactly remember boarding the bus; but he found himself inside, and the bus was moving, rolling, almost too quickly, too roughly, tossing the occupants from time-to-time causing laughter to ensue freely among the riders. The atmosphere was one of chaotic revelry. One of the Warblers was standing at the front of the bus, facing the other occupants, conducting them in sloppy renditions of holiday songs whose lyrics had been altered to convey a sexual context. The Warblers freely passed bottles of wine, blazing joints, and waterbongs among themselves.

Dave needed to remain sober, he felt. He wanted to recognize the story’s end, as the driver had told him; he felt he needed to have the full capacity of his rational mind.

The bus slowed to a halt inside the gates of Dalton Academy. As before, the mob of Warblers seemed to be pushing Dave, first out of the bus then into the building. Before Dave could comprehend his bearing, he found himself standing in an enormous, opulent space. There was a huge, gently-winding staircase and a exquisitely-appointed Christmas tree placed centrally within the curve of the staircase’s structure; the tree was so tall as to nearly touch the ceiling of the palatial room. The opposite side of the hall housed an enormous fireplace in which a fire of an almost unearthly combination of colors blazed, throwing a heat that seemed too much, even for the huge space.

Trent, the chubby, cherubic Warbler stood in front of the tree, obviously marked by the effects of the alcohol and cannabis consumption, and proceeded to sing a version of  _“O Tannenbaum”_ , his voice an almost alarmingly high-pitched falsetto with a ridiculous amount of vibrato: the sound and image combined to a create a singularly grotesque visage to Dave’s sober sensibility. The other Warblers and guests frolicked freely around the room; they danced inappropriate to the present song as if dancing to a music in their own minds. Neckties and jackets were abandoned as the temperature increased. Dave stood near the doorway, hoping to be cooled by the draft of air from the outside.

Some of the other Warblers took turns, singing solos beneath the huge Christmas tree; occasionally additional Warblers joined as backup singers. The other attendees were dancing, sometimes closely, displaying overtly physical signs of affection to each other. Others were grouped, lying together on the expansive marble floor, touching and caressing, loosening and discarding garments. Trent had passed out, and a group of Warblers had removed his shirt and were busying themselves decorating his naked chest and belly with felt-tip markers: obscene words, phrases, and doodles.

“Hey!” Sebastian appeared, springing from a sprint across the room, coming to a stop in front of Dave. “Why not come in and join the party?”

“That’s okay. The heat is kinda oppressive, and it’s cooler here by the door.”

“Suit yourself,” Sebastian spoke with a cocky grin. “You know that thing you said on Monday? That thing about me not looking at you twice if there were five other guys in the room?”

“Yeah?”

“You were  _so_  right,” Sebastian’s smile grew grotesquely huge as he turned and ran back to the motion and energy at the center of the room.

Dave smirked to himself, shaking his head and looking toward the floor.

“Gentlemen and guys, Warblers and Dalton academics of all stripes,” Sebastian’s voice boomed loud from the center of the room causing Dave to cast his gaze upward, “I give to you the return of Blaine Anderson.”

The mcguffin appeared from a central point halfway down the extravagant staircase. He was shirtless, his chest covered only in the thin bands of his suspenders, his pants were tight and decorated with alternating red and green vertical stripes. He descended the staircase to the marble floor as a handful of standing Warblers began singing a jazzy, rhythmic backup. When he reached the center of the floor, he began to sing an obscenely-altered version of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”, and all of the reposing attendees who were not already passed-out rose and began to clap and swoon. Sebastian took his place directly behind the mcguffin, inviting the mcguffin to rub his ass into the taller boy’s crotch: the mcguffin smiled, playful and flirtatious; Sebastian displayed an arrogant, confident grin.

Then something happened, and everybody was shaken silent. The entire building seemed to shift on its foundation. All eyes faced upward as the huge mirrors which lined the walls of the descending staircase fell and shattered upon impact with the marble. Parts of the ceiling fell followed by the powdery dust of shattering plaster and dislodged ornamentation.

Dave backed more closely to the door, sensing an imminent disaster as the other attendees’ faces reacted with expressions of fear and panic.

A giant beam fell forward into the hall from the wall which housed the enormous fireplace, scattering burning logs and flame over the central part of the floor. Sebastian’s face shifted from mirth to purposefulness. The mcguffin and a group of people jerked to make their way toward the entryway where Dave stood, but Sebastian ran to a point behind the Christmas tree and pushed the enormous fir sending it toppling forward to the floor, blocking the movement of anyone toward the doorway. The top of the tree landed into the scattered contents of the fireplace and immediately caught fire, becoming a wall of flame in which the partiers were trapped.

Dave couldn’t help anyone without risking himself. He wanted to spring into action, but the situation seemed insurmountable. He turned and pushed his way through the doors and into the grounds outside the building. He could hear shouts and screams coming from inside. The facade of the building collapsed before his eyes, and he could see, beyond the wreckage, the people trapped within the hall: trapped on one side by a wall of flame, and trapped on the other side by part of the structure which still stood.

From his vantage point, Dave witnessed, as if it were a drama playing out for his eyes only, Sebastian, angry and purposeful, pulling the struggling mcguffin toward the flaming tree, flinging the both of them into the area of the blaze’s greatest intensity.

As he witnessed the act of self-immolation, Dave thought he heard the name  _Brünnhilde_  whispered in his mind. He stood transfixed for a moment as the ruined building, fire, and all, seemed to collapse inward upon itself, leaving only a giant crater where Dalton Academy once stood. On the edge of the crater was a book, an inch-thick, trade paperback. Dave slowly, cautiously, approached the crater. He looked down into the darkness of the abyss and the book lying at its edge.

“That’s all that’s left of Dalton Academy,” a voice from behind startled Dave; he turned.

“Kurt?” Dave spoke incredulous, surprised, though not exactly warmed by the appearance.

“It’s me, and that’s Dalton Academy,” Kurt spoke as he stepped quietly toward Dave, reaching downward and lifting the book from the ground.

_How to be Gay the Corporate American Way_

“It was  _always_  a mcguffin. Dalton Academy: the architectural embodiment of a cheap, self-help book.”

“What happened to it?” Dave asked Kurt.

“I willed it out of existence,” Kurt explained. “It was created because of my problems with you. It gave me some pretty bad advice and basically became a primer for proper attire, grooming, and conduct. Pretty superficial stuff which kinda means nothing in the grand scheme of things. Now that my problems with you no longer exist, it didn’t have a purpose. I did this so the story could happen the way it was supposed to happen. The classic love story. I did this for  _us_. So we could finally be together.”

From the surrounding darkness sounded a growing wail, and the presence of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of spectators became apparent. Dave and Kurt raised their eyes and looked around to find themselves surrounded by droves of young people: mostly teenaged and pre-teen, primarily trendily-attired girls with some hipster, flamboyantly-attired boys among them. They were obviously upset. Some were crying; some were yelling and shaking their fists hatefully. There were a few adults, business-minded-looking people holding clipboards, taking notes, and shaking their heads as they did, an appearance of disapproval. One visibly enraged girl broke away from the mass and stomped toward Kurt and Dave. Her expression was fiery as she stood before Kurt.

“Why did you do it?” she demanded. “We love the mcguffin. He’s hot and you were lucky to have him because he’s better. You were the perfect gay couple.” She pointed angrily toward Dave while still addressing Kurt. “This guy’s  _disturbed_. He can’t  _possibly_  be gay. The  _rules say_  he can’t be gay. I mean, just  _look_  at him!”

“You’re not me,” Kurt spoke to the girl loudly. “You’re not inside my head, and you don’t know  _him_  either.”

The girl slapped Kurt’s face; Kurt recoiled from the impact. “You listen to me,” The girl demanded. “I’m a straight sixteen-year-old girl, and I know more about what it is to be a gay male than either of you two ever will!”

The girl spun, turning away from Dave and Kurt, and returned to the group from which she came. The wailing and sobbing was quieting, and the spectators were dispersing, walking slowly into the darkness in all different directions, away from the center of the crater.

Out of the crater emerged, one-by-one, as if climbing single-file from a staircase which began deep in the earth, a line of young men. The first was short and athletically-built. He had a mop of curly black hair, a face covered in dark scruff, unshaven, and an acoustic guitar slung over his back; the second was taller and thinner, fairer of face and hair, smooth-looking and clean-shaven, bespectacled, and casually-dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. Both of them addressed Kurt and Dave from a distance and nodded in friendly recognition; the taller boy added a thumbs-up gesture to his wave. The remainder of the young men followed, waving and nodding in a friendly manner as they created a procession into the darkness.

Kurt turned and addressed Dave’s face with a small, expectant smile. Dave’s expression steeled itself, preparing to respond to Kurt’s earlier statements.

“Kurt, um, you didn’t really  _mean_  what you said before, did you? About us  _being_ together?”

“Dave, of course I meant it. I know this is what you want because you told me as much last Valentine’s Day. I saw a really wonderful part of you that day. I’ve watched you become a really sweet person. It is the classic love story. Beauty and the Beast.

Dave exhaled loudly, shaking his head slightly. “No, Kurt. I don’t think that’s, um, where my head is right now. Back then, I thought it made sense for you and me to be together. You were the other available person in my world at the time. Since then, I’ve realized that you’re not the only person available to me, not in this immediate world or in any of the places I’ll be going after this. We have our whole lives ahead of us. Being with somebody just because someone’s single is like fixing something that’s not broken. It’s not a reason unto itself.”

Kurt’s face moved from an expression of seriousness to disappointment as Dave continued to talk.

“Back when I was in the hospital, we said we’d be friends. Neither of us ever acted on that. I guess, in some ways, we’ll always have a feeling of solidarity for each other, but, frankly, you’re not likely to accompany me to an NHL game any more than I’m likely to find that going to a fashion show with you is anything other than slow torture. There’s a  _reason_  why we never kept in contact.”

Kurt’s face was sober but otherwise expressionless.

“Make sense?” Dave asked.

Kurt sighed. “Yes. And I should have figured that out.” Kurt paused for a moment, a slight smile returning to his face. “But I don’t regret reducing the Warblers and Dalton Academy to their symbolic essence. They’d become completely useless.”

Dave smiled and nodded, addressing Kurt’s smile.

One small group of spectators remained. They were a diverse group of individuals: an extraordinarily tall man with a full-but-manicured beard dressed in brightly-colored overalls and a pink t-shirt underneath; a pretty blonde French girl; a tall, good-looking high-school aged boy with his stockier-built, handsomely-scruffy college-age boyfriend; a strong and beautiful dark-skinned woman with her hair in short braids; a bespectacled college girl with asymmetrically-styled, two-toned hair; a few heavy-set bearded men; several casually-dressed college-aged girls; a few people of varying ages and unspecific identities. They looked upon Kurt and Dave with serious, sympathetic expressions. Behind them flew a flag, a white skull-and-crossbones on a field of black. In close proximity was the limousine; the driver stood next to it, arms folded as if in expectation, a shorter, thicker-built, luminous blonde man standing beside him.

The tall man stepped out of the group and approached Dave and Kurt.

“We’re your friends,” he spoke to the two of them but directed his words to Dave specifically.

Dave nodded, a degree of uncertainty.

“We’ve been watching,” the tall man said. “Just know that we’re your friends. That’s all.”

Dave smiled nervously. “Thanks. I guess.”

A loud noise came from the direction of the limousine. The driver was standing on the car and had taken the flag and punctured the roof of the car with the flagpole. The pole protruded at an angle, leaving the flag to fly in the wind over the car; his hair and long, black coat caught windswept in the breeze. He jumped from the roof to the ground and spoke.

“The limousine is a symbol of the height of expected norms and corporate establishment.  _This_  limousine is now a pirate vessel.” He stepped away from the car and stood midway between the group of spectators and Dave, Kurt, and the tall man. He directed his words to Dave and Kurt. “I’m riding these people back to civilization. You can come along if you like.”

Dave looked nervously from the tall man to Kurt to the group of spectators. “I don’t know…”

There was a silence before the driver said, “You get to pick the music.”

“Really?” A smile broke across Dave’s face as the driver held the back door of the car open and ushered the group of spectators, one-by-one, into the rider compartment. “I guess I’m in then.”

“I’ll miss the Warblers,” the French girl said to the driver as she stepped into the compartment.

“Then let them be a beautiful memory, one that can’t be ruined by time’s cruel agenda,” the driver answered.

Dave walked with the tall man to the limousine, arriving as the last of the group of spectators had stepped inside. The tall man boarded. Kurt was left standing by himself.

“You can come too, you know,” the driver directed at Kurt. “You’re more than welcome.”

Kurt’s face formed a smile, and he nearly broke into a run as he advanced toward the car.

Dave motioned for Kurt to enter the car before climbing in himself, and the driver closed the door.

The blonde man spoke to the driver, “I’m riding shotgun.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The driver walked to the front passenger-door of the car and held it open as the blonde man seated himself inside; the driver closed the door and walked to the other side of the car, stepped in and set the car in motion toward the horizon, into the light of the approaching dawn.


End file.
